


To Be A Good Person

by WhoNatural



Series: Howlnatural's Tumblr Fic [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bonding, Canon Compliant, Denial, Food Trucks, Friendship, Kind of..., M/M, Matchmaking, Panic Attacks, oblivious!Stiles, post-3B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1558688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoNatural/pseuds/WhoNatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Derek and Beacon Hills' newest deputy have a history.</p><p>"I wanna set Derek up with someone," Stiles announces, and Scott’s character gets blown up by a rocket launcher. He pauses the game and turns to look at Stiles like he’s truly crazy - like out of everything that’s happened over the last six months, this is the weirdest thing he’s ever said. Isaac looks up from Melissa’s magazine and frowns. "What?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be A Good Person

**Author's Note:**

> For the anon who prompted me, "Deputy Parrish turns out to be Derek's ex-boyfriend, and Stiles is jealous?" FOREVER ago.
> 
> This is kind of that..

"One, because for reasons beyond me, Kira looks up to you, dude," Stiles is saying, eyeing up his chilli dog, contemplating which end to start from.

It’s pushing midnight on a Friday and they’re leaning against the jeep in the bathe of light from Stiles’ favourite food truck. Correction; Stiles and Derek’s favourite food truck - a fun fact Stiles uncovered three weekends ago when he showed up in sweats and the shirt he’d been trying to sleep in to satisfy a late night craving, only to watch a familiar Toyota pull up parallel.

It’s, oddly, become a kind of tradition now. It’s not like they made concrete plans to meet here once a week and shoot the shit, it’s just happened that way. Truth be told, the sense of routine - of making a new pattern and a new start - is strangely comforting. Actually acknowledging it might shake the foundations of whatever this is. Calling it a friendship kind of seems too official. They don’t really converse outside of this, not really, and it’s not like Stiles is pushing for more. It’s just… Casual. Truck-buddies.

Derek gives him a flat look, like he’s insulted - but this is what they do; this is the comfortable old habit that thankfully didn’t change in light of events over the last year. Stiles gives Derek shit, Derek bitchfaces at him, they save each other’s butts. It’s a system, and it works.

"Two," he continues, lips twitching at the look on Derek’s face, "Deaton’s an enigmatic dick half the time, her parents have clearly lied to her for most of her life, so she doesn’t trust them, and she literally found out she’s a supernatural creature at the end of last year. She needs help, and you have experience with this stuff."

Derek appears to mull it over, sucking ketchup off his thumb, and Stiles trains his eyes away.

"So what exactly happened?" Derek asks, not committing to anything yet. He knows the reason for his hesitance - it’s not like Derek’s track record with training people has worked out that great.

Stiles swallows a mouthful of relish and bun and shakes his head. “Scott’s being pretty vague about it all. I’m guessing it’s a control thing?”

Derek’s mouth turns down at the corners and he nods to his hotdog. Stiles has become oddly fond of his Serious Pensive Face. So many of Derek’s nuanced expressions come across as grumpy or irritable, but usually it’s some variation of thoughtful or reflective. He thinks he’s becoming kind of good at picking them apart, actually.

"I think he got hurt while they were— you know…" He trails off, uncomfortable with the sentence, because Scott and Kira’s stuff is between them - it’s not exactly his place. Except for that Scott seemed to finally be coming back to himself again, until this.

"And I think she got kind of freaked. I mean, they’re already taking things at a snail’s pace, after— " _The last girl he fell in love with died._ Stiles unconsciously rubs at the ache in his chest that thinking of Allison brings. The panic attacks have stopped, finally - doesn’t make it any easier, especially when nobody seems to blame him.

Derek pulls off a sautéed onion and stuffs it in his mouth. By his bulk, it’d be easy to imagine the guy gorging on carbs and raw eggs and wheatgrass shakes, but that was before Stiles witnessed the pure bliss that came across his face with the first bite of one of the truck’s gourmet hotdogs, or listened to him list off the top five meals he’s had in his lifetime with the same dreamy exuberance usually reserved for people talking about their high school crush. Exclusive: Derek Hale is kind of a foodie.

It’s a second or two of pleased grunting and eyes closing slowly before Derek comes back to reality again, but before he answers, Stiles watches a tiny crease come between his brows and a curious look shadow his features.

He looks over his shoulder, noticing for the first time one of the sheriff’s department’s cruisers idling in the parking lot leading off from Beacon Hills’ paltry nightlife district, and a familiar frame climbing out.

Stiles grins, levering himself off the jeep. “My tax dollars going towards nighttime hotdog runs now?” he calls, and Deputy Parrish’s head jerks in their direction.

"I wasn’t aware there was a law against it, Stiles," he replies, smirking as he steps closer. There’s a flicker of surprise registering on his expression as he sees who Stiles is standing with, but he quickly clears his throat and buries his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"Oh, uh, I guess I should— Jordan, this is Derek," he says, before the deputy gets the urge to call his dad and tell him he’s meeting sketchy meth dealers in the dead of night by slightly pretentious food service vehicles. "Derek, this is the latest and most permanent addition to the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department."

Derek is staring intently at his hotdog, radiating discomfort for a beat, before Parrish smiles, looking away. “You make me sound like some hot shit. And…we’ve met,” he informs. “Good to see you, Derek. Heard you were back in town.”

"Uh, yeah, about a year now," Derek says, looking up awkwardly. "When did you get discharged?"

"About six months back," Jordan replies, and Stiles is aware he’s gaping. It’s just— anyone who’s shown up in town proclaiming to know Derek has always been the kind to plot murder or have faked their own death - not someone normal, or completely human as Deputy Parrish is. At least, as Stiles _thinks_ he is.

"It’s been a ride…" Parrish continues, blowing a breath through his lips. His eyes focus intently on Derek again, and Stiles gets the feeling that there’s a lot he wasn’t aware of - about both guys. "How’ve you been?"

"Good," Derek says, eyes darting to Stiles, like he’s afraid Stiles will disagree with him, call him out on, what is essentially, a lie. "Can’t complain."

Stiles can’t help it, he smirks. Derek swallows as his ears pink up.

The silence stretches on awkwardly for a moment and all three exchange sighs, looking around at the mostly-deserted parking lot, until Parrish rubs his hands together and says, “Well, can’t finish my shift on an empty stomach.” He jerks his head towards the truck. “This place is the only one open during the night that won’t give me E.coli. See you round, Stiles. Derek.”

There’s a contemplative look thrown Derek’s way before he walks off, and Stiles glances between them, trying not to be obvious about it.

"I didn’t know Jordan Parrish was the new deputy you’ve been talking about," Derek comments with forced nonchalance, once he’s well out of earshot. Stiles blinks, watching as the deputy pays Sierra behind the counter and salutes lazily with his burger.

"I… Well, yeah, I didn’t know you knew each other," he replies, leaving the sentence open for Derek to elaborate.

"It was a long time ago," Derek says, because he’s more guarded than the state prison.

Stiles watches as he finishes the hotdog, wiping off his fingers on a napkin, and sighs. “He’s a great guy,” Stiles hedges, wondering what the history is there. The way they looked at each other suggested a lot more than passing acquaintances, and the wheels in his head begin turning, fitting timelines together - but he doesn’t have enough facts.

Derek nods. “He is. The best.” He says it regretfully, like so much else resting on Derek’s guilty conscience.

"Did you two—" he asks, and Derek looks at him like something horrible is about to happen, so he rephrases. "How did you know each other?"

Derek finishes fumbling with the napkin, buying time before screwing it up, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Stiles is about to take back the question, when he says, “High school. Senior year, we… Before—”

Stiles doesn’t need him to finish the sentence. _Before Kate._

"Oh," he says, uselessly. Derek levers off the jeep then, trying to end the conversation.

"He’s a good guy," he comments, a determined set to his face. "Too good for the way I—" He sighs. "Last I’d heard he joined the army. Didn’t think I’d see him again." Derek looks up, face haunted. "I’ll talk to Kira."

Stiles blinks at the change in subject. “Uh, alright. Cool. Just don’t mention that I told you about… You know.”

Derek shakes his head, allowing a smirk. “I’ll be subtle.”

Stiles exhales, watching him go to the Toyota. “ _Because you’re so good at that_ ,” he mutters.

—-

"I wanna set Derek up with someone," Stiles announces, and Scott’s character gets blown up by a rocket launcher. He pauses the game and turns to look at Stiles like he’s truly crazy - like out of everything that’s happened over the last six months, this is the weirdest thing he’s ever said. Isaac looks up from Melissa’s magazine and frowns.

"What?"

"Think about it," he says, unfolding his legs and sliding off the arm of the couch. "He’s not exactly great at choosing people for himself, and… I think he’s kind of lonely." Their faces still register disbelief, so he goes on. "And yeah, Ms Blake was only last year, but before she was all deformed and mental and trying to kill people, she seemed kind of sweet."

"Yeah, ‘sweet’ that’s Derek’s type," Isaac mutters, flicking the page. Stiles still doesn’t know why he’s here - he’s been threatening to leave town for weeks but never seems to actually get around to it.

Scott throws him a look before turning back to Stiles. “Where is this coming from?” he asks, slipping into Understanding Alpha Mode. Stiles shrugs, picking at the inseam of his pants.

"I dunno, I guess I feel kind of bad for him. And I found out that he and Jordan used to have a thing in high school."

Isaac’s brows jerk up. “Deputy Parrish? And Derek?”

Scott looks contemplative. “I guess I could see that.” He looks at Stiles, eyes searching his face, “but why do you want to set them up?”

"I just said," Stiles says, perplexed, holding his hands out. "What’s the big deal?"

Scott seems to think for a second, and then turns to face him fully. “You know nobody blames you, right? Everything that happened - it could have been any of us. You don’t have to knock yourself out trying to to good stuff for us to somehow make it up. We love you.”

Isaac raises a hand. “I don’t love him. I mostly think he’s a dick.” Scott glares back at him, and Isaac huffs out a breath. “But alright, I don’t hold you accountable for electrocuting me and stuff.”

Stiles snorts, ignoring him. “Scott, I know - I’m just trying to do this one thing. I’m just an awesome, giving person, okay?”

Scott squeezes his shoulder, shooting him a begrudging smirk. “Yeah you are.” He picks up the controller and resumes the game. “But are you sure you want to set him up with someone else?”

Stiles frowns, jerking back. “Who up? I mean… What?”

Scott shrugs, sharing a look with Isaac. “Nothing. Nevermind.”

…

"Two visits in one week. Do I have a doctors appointment coming up?"

"Ha- _ha_ ,” Stiles deadpans, looking around the station, “I was actually wondering if Jordan was around.”

His dad’s brows jerk. “Parrish? Sure, he’s at his desk. Everything alright?”

Stiles shrugs. “None of my friends are in mortal peril, if that’s what you mean. I just wanted to talk to him about something.”

"Okay, but you’d tell me if they were in some kind of trouble, right?"

Stiles rolls his eyes, edging towards the deputy’s desk. “Stilinski honour. Remember our code next time you try sneaking Janice’s cupcakes from the breakroom.”

His dad grunts. “Do you have a camera set up in there?”

Stiles grins, “I can’t share classified information, Dad - you know that.”

Parrish is poring over an immaculately-written report when Stiles approaches him, and looks up with a jolt when he says “anything interesting?”

"Just some old lady claiming she saw a half-naked guy drinking from her garden hose," he smiles. "Clearly that was a police matter."

It says so much about Stiles’ life that he’s not sure which of his friends that could have been. He’s tempted to blame Isaac, but Scott isn’t the best with boundaries lately.

"Clearly," he nods, wide-eyed, and clears his throat. "So how’ve you been?" He perches on the edge of his desk and Parrish looks up at him suspiciously. "I didn’t know word of Sierra’s was spreading."

A look of understanding comes over Jordan’s face, and he clicks at his pen. “You’d be surprised what you find out in this town if you stay up past 10pm,” he says, the comment loaded. Jordan leans closer, “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell your dad about you and Derek.”

Stiles jolts so hard he knocks a stapler off the desk, and scrambles to pick it up.

"What about me and Derek?" he hisses, eyes darting around.

Jordan frowns. “That you’re hooking up, or whatever. You’re an adult, Stiles. It’s your business until you’re ready to tell someone.”

Stiles is just…gaping. “I’m not hooking up with Derek,” he says, voice detached. “We’re… Nothing happening. Wow. Why would you even think—”

Parrish’s hands go up defensively, and Stiles’ cheeks are on fire. “Sorry, I guess I just assumed—really?” He gives a confused look before he shrugs. “Your definitely his type, like… Exactly his type.”

"No, dude," Stiles says tightly, because what? "Not even remotely."

Parrish seems to perk up a little at the news, and he gives Stiles a hopeful little smile. “Oh. Uh, good.”

 _Good, this is promising_. “So, uh, where else do you like to eat, apart from food trucks parked in the sketchy part of town?” Jordan thinks about it, a small smile tugging at his lips. He’s got nice lips - he’s pretty much scorching-hot in general, really. Stiles noticed the moment he met him, of course, but back then there had been a lot happening and despite the fact that he’s seen the guy shirtless at the annual Sheriff’s Department cookout, he hasn’t really been looking-looking. Not beyond providing a face and fodder for some lazy jerk-off fantasies, anyway. What? He’s a healthy, teenage boy, he’s allowed.

"Honestly, I’m pretty easy, as long as it doesn’t taste like shit or make me ill, I’m good."

Stiles nods, thoughtful. It doesn’t exactly fit in with Derek’s borderline restaurant-snobbery, but they could make it work.

"Good, that’s cool," he says, when the silence stretches too long. "So I never asked, how are you settling back into town?"

"Well, it’s been six months, but yeah, my family don’t live here anymore, but I always liked Beacon Hills," he says, a wry turn to his mouth. "No plans to leave any time soon."

"Great, that’s awesome!" He replies with probably a little too much enthusiasm, and clears his throat. "So, uh, you coming to the fundraiser for the hospital rebuild?" He holds his hands up. "Just curious…"

Parrish smiles, shy and sweet. “Yeah, if your dad hadn’t made it mandatory, I’d probably have gone anyway.”

Stiles snorts. “Anyone would think he was trying to impress one of the nurses…”

Parrish chuckles. “I’m sure it’s for the good of the town.

Stiles gives him a flat look. “Yeah, for the town…”

…

"He saw a lot of action for someone so young, don’t you think?" Stiles asks, chewing on a mouthful of sweet potato fies.

It’s the following Friday, and Derek had been awkwardly lurking around the parking lot when Stiles got there. There’s a chill in the air, so they opted to eat in the jeep, windows steaming up from the heat of their bodies and the food. Derek grunts non-commitally, rifling through his gluten-free taco for non-existent mushrooms.

Stiles waits for an answer, since he’s learned that talking over Derek gives him the opportunity to stay silent the whole time. Pauses make him uncomfortable.

"That’s pretty impressive, yeah."

"And my dad says he’s the best deputy he’s had work for him since Tara. That’s saying a lot - she was badass."

Derek looks out through the windshield, face shadowed in the low light. “Kira and I worked though some exercises on Tuesday,” he says, eyes front. “She’s got the ability, it’s just tied to her panic response, I think.”

Stiles blinks, swallowing. “Uh, yeah, Scott told me. Thanks for doing that. I think you’re really helping her.”

Derek shrugs. “You asked.”

Stiles watches him for a beat. He wonders how he ever really thought Derek was out to hurt them. Sure, when they met he seemed antagonistic and unnecessarily hostile, and he wasn’t forthcoming with the facts most of the time - but there’s something inherently good about Derek that Stiles has come to see again and again. It’s part of why he’s become someone Stiles wants in his life, not just because of shared experience.

"Yeah, but you didn’t have to," he says, low and quiet, not not sure what his face is doing. He takes a breath. "So, you coming to the fundraiser?"

Derek’s mouth turns down at the corners. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

"Oh come on, if anyone needs that hospital to stay open, it’s you. Plus, I know you can’t say no to Melissa. Embrace your community spirit, Hale."

Derek studies him, eyes flitting over his face, and fights a smile, “Fine, but if anyone tries to auction me off or something, I’m leaving.”

"Shut up, like anyone would bid on you." Stiles retorts, and drains his soda, "So, you’ll come?"

Derek holds out his hands, deliberating like someone’s inviting him to get his toenails pulled out. “Sure.”

Stiles grins. “Awesome. Hey, Jordan’s gonna be there too.”

He digs into his fries again, scavenging the crispy ones from the bottom of the bag, not noticing that Derek doesn’t reply.

…  
“Oh shit, they’re letting the undesirables in,” Stiles says, straightening up as he spots Derek clear the security. He’s in a dark green button-down and slacks, and looks oddly well put together - like some off-duty millionaire or future congressman out on the town. Only Derek could do that while living with a hole in one wall of his loft.

He notices Jordan subtly checking him out, and beckons Derek towards them.

"Don’t tell me they put you in charge of walking and carrying things at the same time?" Derek says, put-upon. Stiles looks down at his smart vest and the tray he’s holding.

"Excuse you, I’ve been an exemplary waiter. Ask Jordan."

Derek seems to notice him for the first time, and gives a curt nod.

"Good to see you again," Jordan says, popping a mini quiche in his mouth. "And yeah, he’s good if only for the fact he’s been talking to me for twenty minutes and I managed to eat everything on his tray."

Derek looks down at that, nodding in agreement. “Sounds about right.”

"You guys are dicks," Stiles announces. "Make yourselves useful and donate to the cause. Derek, you’re filthy rich from insurance, right?"

"…and _I’m_ the dick,” he says to the ceiling, mock-exasperated. “I see why you invited me here. You just want my money.”

"Yeah, that’s why I invited you," Stiles says, sending a meaningful look between the two of them as he backs away. "You two should… Catch up. I gotta go check that Scott and Kira aren’t shoved in some corner being obnoxiously adorable instead of working." The two guys frown back at him, before looking at each other.

Stiles leaves them to it, hoping to avoid them for the rest of the night. He feels oddly unsettled, an itch deep in his bones that he attributes to executing a plan - since it gets worse if he catches sight of Derek and Jordan sharing conversation and Derek’s quiet, closed off smile at a joke. Maybe it’s nothing, just nervous hopes for the fundraiser. He throws himself into playing host and trying not to be a source of high blood pressure for his dad, for once.

It mostly works, until things are beginning to wind down and Derek finds him collecting glasses from one of the tables with Danny.

“Stiles, can I talk to you?” He asks, standing on the other side of the table. Stiles stands back warily from a tray balanced with glasses and blinks up. 

"Sure.. having a good night?" he asks, leering. It feels like a leering kind of moment. Derek watches his face for a few seconds.

"Yeah, actuallly. Jordan and I were gonna head off for some real food—"

"That’s awesome!" Stiles says, a little too quickly, and Derek lays his palms flat on the table.

"Did you— was this some sort of set up?" Derek asks, eyes searching his intently, and Stiles wasn’t really prepared to get asked outright. Danny comes back in the meantime to swap out trays, and Stiles uses the distraction to act nonchalant. He shrugs innocently.

"I..guess?" he hedges, when there aren’t any glasses left. "You should go, Derek. I’m pretty busy, here anyway."

Derek doesn’t look done, but Stiles is backing away, that odd thrum beneath his skin making the place feel hot and stifling.

"Are you— I thought you and him—"

Scott is calling Stiles from behind the makeshift bar and he waves to him. “Go ahead, Derek. Seriously.” He gives him an encouraging smile and ducks under the panel, grabbing on to the offered tray, and when he looks back around, Derek is gone - and so is Jordan. _Great_ , he thinks, though something inside him feels like it’s sinking.

—

He, Scott and Kira get sent off early as a thanks for their help over the course of the evening, and Stiles doesn’t really have any desire to play third wheel. He thinks about going home to bed, taking the moral highground when his Dad stumbles in in the small hours just for shits, but the thought of laying in the dark or looking for some kind of immersive distraction doesn’t seem appealing.

He drives.

He drives in circles for so long that he doesn’t even register pulling into the parking lot, a familiar van docked in it’s usual spot.

Sierra’s usual smile falters when she talks to him, and he wonders what his face is like. It’s too real and raw to properly figure out why he’s got that stifling, choking feeling again, standing out in the open in one of his favourite spots in town. As he sits in the jeep in silence, half-picking at a hotdog that he can barely taste, he finally allows his mind to drift.

It drifts to Derek and to Jordan; wondering where they ended up, if things are going well, if they’re finding enough to talk about. He thinks about Derek’s soft, private smiles, of the dust of his lashes on his cheekbones; the wry turn of his mouth when he thinks he’s being charming. He wonders if Derek’s using those now, those small little mannerisms that one only notices when in his extended company, living in his aura. The itch returns, and it gets worse.

And then seemingly out of nowhere, it hits him with the force of a freight train; his own complete, disgusting, soul-crushing jealousy.

It’s like finally breaching the surface for air, yet still drowning. His entire body vibrates with it - stomach turning, teeth grinding past the nausea. He wonders if he’s been in complete denial all this time, or if he truly never noticed his growing feelings for Derek, just happy to be near him and nothing else.

The street lights go blurred, and he realises he’s gasping for air, hands clenching in the wrapping on his lap. 

He _wants_ Derek. 

He thinks on some level he always has, but the shock of it floods his veins with adrenaline. He wants Derek and he never told him and spent the last week encouraging him to be with someone else. 

Scott was right. Stiles understands the confusion in his reaction now - that Stiles would be the one to do this. There has to be some name for the fucking idiocy he’s branded with. Self-flagellation is the first phrase that rings true over it all, actually - guilt and shame pushing him to deny himself what he really, truly wants. 

It’s minutes or hours before his vision clears again, and when he looks up, silhouetted in the haze is Derek - all six-foot devastation of him - approaching slowly from the front of the car. 

And just like that, Stiles’ throat relaxes again; there’s air. 

He’s wearing a worried expression when he steps into the light, and Stiles fumbles the door open, dropping on shaking legs on to the pavement. Derek steps forward with a jolt. Reaching out, but Stiles steadies himself, leaning on the closed door, and scrubs a hand down his face. 

“Hey…” he says in a croak. “What’re you doing here?” 

Derek just looks at him for a minute, face radiating concern, but he holds out a hand. “It’s Friday.” 

Stiles frowns. “Yeah, but you— Jordan. Where is he?” 

His heart ratchets up again, but he holds Derek’s gaze with iron will. He’s going to be good about this - he’ll be supportive and wallow in the mess he made and hope he learns to live with it. 

But Derek is _here_ \- here and solid and it’s Friday and they haven’t even made an official plan out of this, but he came. Stiles clenches his jaw against the betraying hope forming in his core. 

“He went home,” Derek replies, standing still now. He turns and leans side-by-side with Stiles, and he knows it’s not by accident. This is Derek letting him get his shit together, wear his armour. “We talked. It was…nice.” 

They stare ahead, and the shaking in Stiles’ hands has subsided enough for him to relax them again, pressing against the cool metal. 

“We didn’t end well,” Derek says, taking the lead in the conversation, shouldering the weight that Stiles can’t right now. “Back then, I— forgot about a lot of things around. Around her. He deserved better.” 

Stiles nods at the pavement, licks his dry lips. 

“We got closure.” 

He can’t help but blink up at him then, head swimming. “What?” 

“I didn’t want— whatever you were trying to do, or whatever impression you got, it wasn’t like that. Me and Jordan, we— we’re different people now. There’s nothing there to revisit.” Derek looks up at him. His eyes are impossibly open in the low light, and Stiles swallows again in the pull of them. “Not for me, anyway.” 

“Oh,” Stiles says, forehead creasing, “Sorry, I—” 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Derek cuts in, a look of soft determination on his face. “You’re a good person, and you were trying to help, and that’s just… you.” 

“I’m not a good person,” Stiles disagrees instantly, shaking his head. He can’t look at him, now, remembering his reaction mere moments ago, remembering everything he put his dad and his friends through, and it’s not fair. “If I was, then that thing wouldn’t have—” he clenches his jaw momentarily, “and I wouldn’t have sat here fending off a panic attack because I couldn’t stand the thought of you being with someone else.” 

Derek doesn’t reply. He’s stock-still by his side, letting the words flow over him. 

“I’m not a good person. I’m just trying to be. Failing at it.” 

It’s a long moment filled with the noise of far-off traffic and muffled house beats, and then Derek says, “It’s the same thing, I think.” 

Stiles looks at his feet. “Yeah?” 

“I hope so,” he says, and Stiles knows it’s coming from experience. 

“Me too.” 

Derek’s hand edges towards him along the metal, and their pinky-fingers intertwine, and Stiles feels his face heat; his pulse thundering like this is new and terrifying - because it is. 

But one look at Derek, at the matching stain in his cheeks, the worry of his teeth on his lip and how he can’t meet his eye, and he knows then - he might not feel like a good person on the inside, but maybe it doesn’t matter how he feels. To the right people, he still could be. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am [howlnatural](http://howlnatural.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
